Oliver Hudson





the lion in the lute or
the lion locked in stone


You gave me all the direction I could take;
geographic, plus notes on my performance;

that eyeless iron arrow, a servant of purpose
that pushed me over undulating dunes

thrusting one firm and certain digit at
the smug oasis, far off, in the middle.

One day, I sat down by a succulent.
Sate your thirst and dessicate your mind,

you warned. Drink not from those quills
or choke on your own swollen tongue.

For forty nights I bled for the Northern face,
my skull cracked open, leaking dreams on sand,

the needle spinning in my hand. At the edge
of all you see, a palm tree’s umbra, a mirage.




Oliver Hudson is a father of two, poet by aspiration and journalist by trade. He lives in Warwick and is a regular member of Warwick Words, his local creative writing group. He has had poetry published in the Warwick Words annual anthologies, and by Forward in their 2011 anthology Poetry Rivals. In 2011 he was longlisted for the Plough Prize. His interests (other than poetry) include Travelling, Music, History and Fencing.

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